


Raise a Glass

by Canaan



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was going to kill Amy Pond.  Or, well, not really.  But he wouldn't mind embarrassing her thoroughly."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise a Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trobadora, because I thought she needed cheering up, and speed-beta'd by the lovely and talented Yamx. Happy fluff, soon to be jossed. Author self-rating: soft R.
> 
> I don't own them and I'm not making any money.

Amy stood at the top of the stairs, looking down as the Doctor staggered into the console room, barely managing to drag the TARDIS doors closed behind him. He wove his way across the floor, dragged himself up the steps to the console, and sat very definitively so far off the edge of the nearest chair that he tumbled to the deck. "You must've had a really good time," Amy said, smirking.

"Or a really bad one," Rory put in sleepily as he came up behind her.

The Doctor pushed up from the floor, managing to sit mostly upright and look at them at the same time. Amy suppressed a ridiculous urge to offer him a gold star for the feat. "Oh, it was good," he said, his words crisp despite his unfocused eyes. "It was really, really good, actually. We said everything that needed saying, got everything out in the open between us. Had a few drinks and parted ways."

"Only an alien could get this drunk and not go back and get laid," Amy muttered under her breath. Rory made a sound that was either laughing or choking. While he was recovering, she called down to the alien in question, "Was he as drunk as you are?"

"Oh no, no, not at all . . . well, maybe . . . that is to say . . . Yes. Probably." He blinked.

"We'd better go check on him, then," Rory said. "You want first turn getting dressed while I keep an eye on this one?"

Amy twisted around and smiled. "I love you, Rory Pond," she said softly, kissing him soundly and muffling his obligatory noise of protest. When she pulled away, he smiled back. "I'll just be a minute. You want me to bring a bucket when I come back?"

Rory looked down at the Doctor. "Oh, yeah."

***

  
"We don't have to do this," the Doctor protested. "Jack won't want us around cluttering up his Christmas plans, and anyway, I promised to get you back to Leadworth for Christmas."

"Time machine, Doctor," Amy reminded him, watching the glowing colors of the guide stick. Rory was impressed that she'd managed to coax the Doctor's coat pockets into giving up the little device, still coded with the directions Jack had provided him earlier that evening. It led led them through the space station's maze-like corridors toward the quarters Jack was renting.

"And anyway," Rory said, "there's no way we're letting you drive while you're like this. We could end up in the middle of a supernova or a land war in Asia." He stumbled a bit as the Doctor's weight shifted. "God, you're heavy. Amy, are we close?"

They rounded another corner. "We're here," she announced. She tried the buzzer, and when nothing happened, touched the end of the guide-stick to the key swipe.

The door slid open on a small, spartan room with a neatly-made bed, a small "necessary" cubicle walled off to one side, and not much else but the duffel bag slung in the corner. There was no sign of its occupant. Rory groaned. "That's it," he said, maneuvering the Doctor past Amy and helping him to sit down on the bed. "I'm not steering him around while we go looking for this Jack fellow. He can stay here."

"'m not drunk," the Doctor protested. Rory didn't think his eyes were even open.

"Get some sleep, Doctor," Amy said, pushing gently on the bloke's shoulders.

As suggestions went, it must have been hard to resist. The Doctor's eyes fell shut, and Rory stood up and hauled his legs into bed. "I suppose we should take his shoes off," he said, bending to untie the laces.

A smile tugged at the corner of Amy's mouth, growing wider at a rate that alarmed him. "Rory . . . " she began, in that voice that had meant trouble ever since he was sixteen years old.

"No," he said firmly. He'd had lots of practice. "Whatever it is, no."

She pouted. "But it's Christmas," she said. "Besides, haven't you ever had fun with drunks before?"

***

  
The Doctor pried one eyelid open, wondering how a Legojyan sarnot could have crawled into his mouth and died without his noticing. He scraped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste, and peered around . . . a hostel room? Why was he in a hostel room? He started to sit up and winced as he put his knee into something.

The something groaned.

The Doctor looked. That was skin. The small of somebody's back, by the look of it. Attached to the rest of the back on one side and a bare arse on the other. "Oh, bugger," he muttered.

"That a suggestion?" a familiar voice asked. "'Cause, you know, I'm game. Just let me brush my teeth first."

The Doctor closed his eyes and lay back again. He was _sure_ he'd made it back to the TARDIS. He was sure. He was . . .

He was going to kill Amy Pond. Or, well, not really. But he wouldn't mind embarrassing her thoroughly.

Jack shifted on the bed beside him--sitting up, by the feel of it--and snickered. The snicker turned into a laugh.

The Doctor forced his eyes open and glared up at Jack, coming up on one elbow. He'd actually opened his mouth to tell Jack to shut up when an unexpected flash of color caught his eye. He blinked, smiled, and asked, "Jack, do you know you're wearing a red-and-green ribbon around your privates?"

It took Jack a moment to quell the laughter long enough to gasp, "Doc . . . go look in the mirror."

This did not bode well. The Doctor looked quickly down the length of his body, discovering a cheerful red Christmas bow stuck to his stomach, just below a message written on his skin in green marker:

 _Dear Jack,_

 _Merry Christmas._

 _Love,  
Amy and Rory_

 _P.S. Please don't let him escape till at least 10 o'clock. We're going to have a bit of a lie-in._

The Doctor sighed. "I suppose I deserved that."

Jack managed to get his laughter under control. "We probably both did," he admitted. He reached out to touch the words "10 o'clock," and the Doctor tried not to shiver. Jack said, "I don't know how they think I'd manage to keep you here that long. Short of your original proposal." He leered cheerfully, but there was a hesitation in his eyes.

A hesitation the Doctor knew he'd put there. It was one thing to have drunk enough to have finally had it out with each other over all the hurts done, and another to really believe it was okay now. He drew a deep breath. _Why is it that I can't even taste my teeth, and yet you still smell good?_ the Doctor wondered inanely. "Jack," he said.

"Hmm?"

The Doctor smiled. "Only if I can borrow your toothbrush first."


End file.
